


Light and Shade

by eggblue



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Angst, Depression, Knifeplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-01-10
Updated: 1999-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-30 20:24:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggblue/pseuds/eggblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was afraid that it was threatening to consume him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Light and Shade

As you try to pierce my poison flesh  
As I try to pierce your tortured heart  
\-- ‘Across 1000 Blades’  
black tape for a blue girl

*  
  
Julian walked the empty corridors of Deep Space Nine. Even after living on the station for seven years, he still couldn’t get used to it. When he first laid eyes on the station from his transport ship, his new home amazed him. It looked fragile and sinister at the same time, like an upturned insect, legs dangling in the air in both directions. Its markings and docking arms looked obviously alien to his Earth-bred eyes, but that wasn’t all that entranced him. Maybe it was the station’s history or its Cardassian architecture, Julian didn’t know. But something told him in that first excited glance that this was a cold place. And he’d been trying to lose that sensation ever since.

Oh, it wasn’t cold in the literal sense, of course. The humming and glowing radiator bed at the station’s core kept its inhabitants warm, well-fed, comfortable, discounting the occasional saboteur or one of Chief O’Brien’s bad moods. Sometimes, on nights like this one, Julian would lay his hands and head against the wall, listen to the constant hum of the station’s breathing and feel it against his body. It was a remarkable feeling. If someone had ever been fool enough to ask Julian if places can have a soul, at those moments, he would have answered affirmatively without a second thought. But no one asked Julian what he thought anymore, they knew better than that by now.

He felt the wall with his hands. It was always cold. He supposed the station’s heating could only do so much against the blackness of space, with a coldness that could freeze you to the marrow. Sometimes Julian fancied that the station wasn’t cold at all. Instead, it was his touch that was like ice, his body like frost. That maybe, this war had taken its toll on him finally, his emotions frozen beneath layers of ice, deep inside him. But no matter what his friends thought, Julian knew he wasn’t cold and inhuman. He knew he still had his passion, his spark. Every time he watched another patient die, he felt it. The war and the death it wrought wasn’t making him cold and indifferent. With every new battle fought, every new casualty he could feel a fire burning within him, making the hole inside him bigger and bigger. He was afraid that it was threatening to consume him.

Julian stopped and leaned back into the nearest alcove. It was early in the morning, the station lights were still dimmed, and he was already feeling frustrated. He couldn’t remember sleeping last night, but he must have gotten at least a few hours. At least, he hoped so. A couple more sleepless nights and he was sure he was going to pass out in the middle of the infirmary. Add on a healthy lack of appetite and the stress of his job and Julian’s nerves were reaching the breaking point.

He closed his eyes and desperately tried to clear his mind. Don’t think about your father in prison whom you haven’t called in months. Or your best friend, Miles, whom you no longer play darts with. And forget about Jadzia, who died in your infirmary. And the war, which you are certain of losing. Forget about the last several girlfriends who dumped you. And the intelligence agent who’s trying to recruit you. And the time you spent in the prison camp...

Julian sighed. Self-pity wasn’t helping. As a boy, Julian always felt helpless, and utterly frustrated. Without reason, the littlest thing would set him off into a fit of tears, inconsolable. His mother would try everything to make him feel better, but eventually she had to give up. Nothing worked, the tears wouldn’t stop. Most of the time, Jules was happy and quiet, content in himself and his lazy daydreams. But other times he would cry empty tears, holding on to Kookalaka for dear life, while inside he would remain silent with the calm on the other side of panic, any emotions or fears long forgotten as his body shook with sobbing, fascinated by the physical manifestation of a lost grief.

Now, as an adult, his crying days long gone, Julian still didn’t understand it. As the calm remained, he sometimes wondered if there was a way to find that simple peace again, where his body became the flesh incarnate of the mind and the imagination. Perhaps, a chance to become something more than the worthless frustration he felt right now.

Julian shook his head, shaking off his reverie. He continued down the hall and entered the lift.

"Promenade." Maybe today something would break through.

***

"The time is 0600 hours."

Elim Garak awoke to the monotone voice of the station computer, calling him to another day’s work. He opened his eyes to darkened quarters. The starlight bounced off the Cardassian architecture, casting familiarly menacing shadows on the wall. He slept naked, covered in layer after layer of thick sheets as he lay in the hard bed. A thin film of sweat covered his scaled body, dripping in rivulets down his hard ridges and dampening his straight black hair. He figured it was partly because of the heat he kept circulating in his quarters at all times, and partly because of the erection that he woke up with. Normally he would spend the required hour in his bed or in the warm shower taking care of himself, but this morning he had too much work to do. Between the tailoring for his customers and the decoding for Starfleet there wasn’t much time left for pleasuring himself, or eating a long leisurely meal, or reading a good Enigma Tale. Not that Garak was a shallow man, or even an aesthete. No, he just came from an inherently carnal people, and he just had a remarkably erotic dream. He should be thankful, really. At least in this dream he didn’t end up dead or guilty, or humiliated in front of his enemies. Besides, he’d already lived through most of that. From what he remembered of it, his dream was the usual play of sex and violence, intertwined so where you couldn’t tell where the violence left off and the sex began, or even the difference between the two.

Garak reluctantly, but with an admirable amount of self-control, got out of bed and walked into the bathroom. He lacked a strong sense of vanity, or he would have paid more attention to his reflection in the mirror. His pupils were wide in the half-light, his gray skin became silver, his hair made invisible. He stepped into the shower, hesitating calling for cold water. Why was he doing this? For the next 12 hours he would have to tailor clothes for Bajorans who hated him and decode messages to betray his people. Never mind.

"Computer, sauna."

The computer complied, sending clouds of steam into the shower, making Garak feel like he was back under the covers. He sat down on the smooth bench and leaned back against the wall as he took his erection in his hand. Taking deep breaths, he began to make long strokes. Garak always loved doing this. Something about it reminded him of that last summer with Mila, when he was seven, the summer before Tain came to take him away. Funny, the dreams were violent even then. He was tired of looking for an escape route, a way to break free when things got too messy, so where you could always go back home again, safe and sound. No regrets that way, no hurt, nothing he couldn’t handle. It was always much more satisfying to allow yourself to be hurt, or even better, to hurt yourself. That way, whatever happened, the pain was your own. He loved to wear his pain like a badge, to keep it as a momento, as a source of pride. It allowed him to hurt others because the pain was his own and he earned it. Here, he was weak. His hurt, his pain, his strength was pure, and he needed that purity back. That pain was his identity.

That was before he was exiled. Now, all of that pain belonged to Tain because he had caused it. On his father’s deathbed, Garak desperately tried to get some of it back. If Tain would have just acknowledged that Garak was his, that Garak used to be something else, then maybe some of that pain could return to where it belonged, and Garak could find his strength again. But it wasn’t enough, and he remained even emptier than before.

Concentrating, he closed his eyes and tried to remember one of his favorite fantasies. He was in his room, the room he had as a child. It was sparse and immaculate, a proper room for a proper Cardassian boy. As Garak walked closer to the bed, he could see the room more clearly, and his vision began to focus. Bright lights flooded down on the bed, the white sheets glowed. He knew those lights and where they came from, but that was inconsequential. For now, they just served as an allusion to another place of pain. Focusing again. There is someone on the bed. A Cardassian, smaller and thinner, laying face-down, loosely tied to the bedposts, quiet and waiting.

The sight of it causes Garak to take a deep breath, his hand more insistent as the image becomes materializes in his mind’s eye.

He reaches out and touches the boy’s back, the flesh trembling under his cold touch. Turning his head, the boy can see Garak, naked, strong, fully aroused. Garak imagines his young heart beating faster, his own erection becoming harder. He reaches for a length of black fabric, like the ones tying the boy’s hands and feet to the bedposts. He uses it as a blindfold, the knot in the back catching a few strands of ink-black hair.

Garak imagines hearing a sharp intake of breath as he ties the knot, the sound causes him to groan himself, as he moves closer to release.

The fantasy gets more intense. Garak focuses completely on the scene, his powers of visualization well honed. Now he puts on the gloves. They cover the top of his hands and his fingernails. Sharp metal claws extend from his fingertips, about an inch in length. They are the color of cobalt gray, ornamental and decadent. Garak appreciates the aesthetic value, and the pleasure they afford him. He kneels in between the boy’s splayed legs and places a palm on his left cheek, holding him down. He traces the thick-ridged backbone with his pinkie finger, gently scraping the skin but leaving it unbroken. The boy starts to squirm as he feels the cold metal tip run down his back.

Garak is pumping his erection now, close to coming, but never losing focus on the boy, the bed, the lights.

When Garak reaches his right cheek, he gently punctures the skin with his thumb. The boy gasps and jerks to the left. A small dark line runs down the side of his hip and disappears. Garak moves his palms down the boy’s sides and lifts him off the bed. Now he’s kneeling, his head resting on a thin pillow, his hair fanning out on the white fabric like feathers.

Garak knows what he wants to do. He’s anticipating every move before it comes, the fantasy playing itself again and again in his mind. He knows every part that turns him on even more, that perfect scene that will set him off.

He watches the boy as he opens up in front of his eyes, another part coming into focus. He touches the hole with a fingertip, gently so as not to draw any blood. He imagines, in the fantasy and in the sauna, working his finger in all the way, then joining it with another. He imagines the blood and the boy screaming, more like a wail than a bellow. It is enough to make him come against the shower wall, his own scream, more like a bellow, torn out of him.

Garak opens his eyes to the steam and the starlight.

"The time is 0700 hours."

He’s out of time again. "Computer, shower, hot."

Garak lets the shower and his thoughts take away what remains of his erection. He doesn’t know why he chose that particular fantasy this time. It always frustrates him in the end. Only once, the night after he first set foot on this station, did he actually fuck the boy. It was fine if he remembered, but a little disconcerting. The pain and the torture always worked better, though. Something about entering the boy seemed empty to Garak, but he didn’t know why. Even though the fantasies could get carried away, the pain seemed much more real.

"Computer, stop shower." Garak toweled off and got dressed in flattering shades of gray and black. Exiting his quarters, he hoped that the rest of the day wouldn’t bother him too much.

***

The girl’s mother looked worried.

"I’m sure everything will be fine. Just let her rest for a few days and come back in a week for a follow-up."

Julian tried to comfort them as best he could. He was glad that he still knew how. He reached out a hand and gently rubbed the little girl’s back. In the back of his mind he hoped that he didn’t sound as hollow to her ears as he did to his own. They smiled and left the infirmary.

He needed a vacation.

***

Julian walked the station corridors again. It was the middle of the night and he couldn’t sleep, again. Captain Sisko gave him that vacation, but it was for on-station only and lasted just a few days. So, he had three days to wander the station alone and try not to think. Even the holosuites seemed dull, plus he couldn’t afford them right now. When did he get so boring?

He didn’t need a vacation, he needed a psychiatrist. But Ezri was out of the question. Besides, she had her hands full with Garak.

***

‘I don’t need a psychiatrist, I just need a good fuck.’

A session with Ezri always put Garak in a bad mood. It was a miracle that he didn’t bite the poor dear’s head off more often. After all, she deserved it. The only thing worse than a Starfleet officer is a Starfleet officer who serves as a counselor. He just didn’t understand. The Federation prided itself on peace, harmony, and justice but where were all the murderers? the rapists? the suicides? In a society that repressed, something had to give. Garak knew better. But then again, he supposed that if everyone had enough money and the holosuite programs kept running, then all was well. Give the people an endless supply of money and sex and you get a society of pacifists.

On the other hand, give the people a crowded, hellish planet, very little food, and missionary sex and you get, well, Cardassia. Garak knew that the Founders never forgot an enemy, and he knew that they would keep their promise to destroy Cardassia. So his people were already on the death march and there was nothing he could do anymore to stop it.

He doubted that anyone cared, not even Doctor Bashir. From what he’s learned, compassion only goes so far before it begins to bite you in the ass. Maybe he should talk to Julian before it was too late. After all, wouldn’t want him to become bitter.

Garak entered his quarters, prepared to spend the next two days alone and in peace. Perhaps he’ll read a novel, a spy report or two, maybe catch up on some sleep...

***

Julian lay on the operating table.

The masked surgeon picked up an old-fashioned medical tool. It glinted silver in the light, shiny and sharp. "Ok, I think we’re ready to begin."

The cut started at his sternum and traveled down his abdomen, ending just below his navel. The skin peeled back like skin off of peach flesh. The cut went deep, through the layers of skin and fat. The second cut crossed the first like a T. It reminded Julian of an autopsy or a dissection. But of course it couldn’t be either, because Julian was awake.

He looked down as the surgeon folded back the skin, exposing a white ribcage and the glistening, still moving organs underneath. Then he grabbed the ribcage with forceps, cracked the bone, and extracted it. Underneath, Julian’s heart pumped contentedly away. The surgeon grabbed it and yanked it out, blood spurting from the arteries onto the infirmary floor and walls. He held the heart in his hands and stared at it. Julian stared as well, he’d never seen his heart before outside of his body. "Diseased." The surgeon sighed disgustedly and flung Julian’s heart against the wall. It hit its target with a loud, wet splat, scattering more red blood all over the infirmary.

Julian decided to ask a question. "What seems to be the problem, Doctor?"

"Diseased! Everything is diseased. We’ll have to clean it all away and maybe we can salvage the rest." The surgeon seemed to be muttering loudly to himself, oblivious to Julian’s question. His uncovered eyes darted over the open body, the rest of his face covered by the white mask.

After the heart came the liver, spleen, and lungs. His intestines became a pile in the corner, his stomach a centerpiece for his desk. Still, the surgeon wasn’t done.

He moved up to Julian’s head, eyeing his forehead and scalp. He made an incision just below the hairline. He had to use a saw to remove the skull but eventually the buzzing stopped and he held a brain in his hands.

"Now that’s a shame." The surgeon discarded the gray, spongy brain. He paused. "The skin. It has to be in the skin..." Julian followed the man’s gaze with curious interest across his own exposed body. He was still watching when he picked up another scapula, a larger one this time.

The cut began at his thigh this time. It traversed the length of his leg, just shallow enough to flay back the skin...

 

Julian awoke drenched in sweat, with a heavy feeling in his abdomen. He made it to the bathroom just in time to be sick.

***

The palace was made of ice.

The city, dark at midnight, seemed to glow from within. The light of a million candles reflected off the clear and clouded walls. The floor he was standing on was of snow, crunching under his heavy black boots. It was eerily quiet save for his footsteps and the sound of his breath, escaping as steam from his mouth.

Garak felt cold. An ice palace was no place for a Cardassian. His fur coat and cap did nothing to stave off the biting frigid air. He searched desperately for a warm place, hoping for a reprieve from the cold around every corner. He was used to the old stone castles on Cardassia, all gray and damp. But this was different. The white was blinding and the cold was numbing. It was all he could do to fight the urge to lay down and sleep.

Garak reached the beginning of another passageway. At the other end he could make out clouds of steam floating in the air, like ether. He walked ahead, seeking warmth.

It was a courtyard. The ceiling opened to the stars and the moon, forsaking the domes that covered the rest of the palace. All of the candlelight seemed to vanish as soon as Garak passed through the doorway. With just the silver moonlight to guide him, he could faintly see a pool, its surface like a mirror in reverse, black and empty. Ice-covered trees dripped spears of icicles from their branches. He heard hollow chimes as the wind shook the frozen limbs, the icicles falling and shattering on the snow.

A wave rippled the mirror pool. Garak watched, entranced, as a body broke the surface.

His hair and eyes were of a deeper black than the sky above them or the water below. Garak’s breath caught in his chest as he looked into those eyes. For a moment, while he watched him, Garak felt as if he was falling...

The moonlight, absent in the surface of the pool, shone on his skin, haloing his bare shoulders and arms. His fingers rested on the black water, gently circling and rippling where they touched. Garak looked at his face. Its expression was inviting and insistent but with a quiet calm. There was a light in the depths of his black eyes, even though his expression remained unchanged. Surprisingly unresisting, Garak found himself moving closer to the edge of the pool, all fear lost in the calm of the night. He removed his fur hat and his heavy boots. The air remained frigid but Garak couldn’t feel it. Instead, he felt a warm heat that spread through him like a fountain. He began to unfasten his jacket, and in throwing it aside, the Cardassian found himself naked in the arctic air. Without hesitation, he sat on the moss-blanketed edge of the pool, his legs dangling in the water. He could not see his legs once they went under the surface, lost in the blackness. The water lacked a temperature of any degree that Garak could measure. It gave him an intensely erotic feeling, like the water was enveloping his body in a kiss.

The black-eyed creature greeted him at the edge of the pool. Without any hint of surprise, Garak realized that it was his Julian, naked and welcoming him with his arms. In one motion, he found himself in those arms, holding onto the other’s lithe body as they floated together in the water. Unable to swim, he would not let Julian go, nor could he ever bring himself to.

His whole body immersed in water up to the neck, Garak embraced Julian’s waist and closed his eyes. He felt calm and blissfully empty, he felt no violent urges or power struggles. There was just Julian, and the moonlight, and the sound of his heartbeat in the silence.

"Garak..."

His voice was the sound of ice, melting and breaking. It called his name as a command, willing him to look.

Garak opened his eyes and looked into Julian’s face just as he was meeting his lips in a kiss. They floated together as one body, embracing, as Julian’s legs wove in the water, keeping them above its black depths. His kiss was needy, insistent. Garak’s muscles strained to keep up as Julian pushed further and further into his mouth. He couldn’t catch his breath and Julian showed no signs of slowing down. Even in this cold weather, Garak could feel the man’s erection pressing into his stomach. Almost at the breaking point, he moved his hands to nudge Julian away.

In return, he felt sharp claws dig into his back as Julian fought to hold on. His fingernails scraped at the rough-scaled back, but he barely managed to scratch the skin. Garak could feel the movements become more frantic and wild, desperate to hold onto the kiss even as Garak tried to push him away. He wrapped his long limbs around the Cardassian’s waist, criss-crossing his ankles at the back of Garak’s thighs and pulling in tight, shifting their shared weight onto Garak’s back.

They went under.

Dark waters closed in all around at they went down deeper, still deeper. Garak could still feel Julian’s lips on his, their bodies anchoring each other, steadily sinking and entwined together. His panic and fear were muted and tamed, his reactions weak and futile. Slowly, Garak gave up and closed his eyes. His last vision was of the moon, full above and amber-colored in the black and icy night.

 

He awoke shivering and wet with sweat. The bed’s coverings lay in a crumpled mess on the floor, kicked off earlier in the night.

"Computer, lights."

Artificial lights erased the shadows of the starlight, easing his torment. He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Angry at his dream, tortured and vulnerable, Garak tried to find an escape from the prison of his mind.

***

He wandered the corridor in the middle of the night, not knowing where he was or where he was going to. An hour ago he awoke in the dark with a fever, shaking and covered in a cold sweat. Now, his limbs were threatening to give out beneath him as he grabbed onto the wall for support. It felt like ice against his burning skin.

Julian’s breathing became more ragged every time he exhaled. His fever raged throughout his body as delirium overtook his mind. Visions surfaced from far beneath his consciousness, strange and overwhelming. He felt filled with an unquenchable lust and a stifling need for escape from his own body. Julian wanted a release, and he needed someone to give it to him. Every muscle in his body tuned into his thoughts, aching and rejecting any attempt to calm down. Still wearing his pajamas and drowsy with exhaustion he left his quarters to find some way to make it all come true...

***

The lights were still on in Garak’s quarters when the computer indicated that someone was at his door. Frustratingly aroused, he grabbed a robe and decided to answer it anyway. He needed inspiration and he needed to forget.

"Come in."

The door slid open, revealing his new distraction.

***

Half-conscious thoughts flashed in Julian’s mind.

Whose room was this? Hmm. It smelled nice. And it was warm. He entered Garak’s quarters.

"Computer, dim lights."

He walked towards the bedroom, completely ignoring the Cardassian standing in front of him, undressing slowly as he went. First unbutton his top, slide it off, now kick off his slippers, untie the drawstring at his waist...

***

Garak followed Julian back into his bedroom.

When he arrived, he found Julian already throwing covers off the bed, mumbling intelligibly. His pants fell loose around his waist, falling slightly to reveal the top of his naked hips and buttocks. Garak moved closer to the bed, saying nothing.

Softly, he came up to the side of the bed. With one deft move, he grabbed onto Julian’s hips with both hands, lifting him up and throwing his light frame onto his back, where he landed on the bed, gasping in surprise. Garak saw his heavy-lidded lashes close and he arched his back in response, twisting his body in the now-disarrayed bedsheets.

When he opened his eyes again, Garak was on top of him. One hand wrapped around each wrist, he hovered over Julian’s oblivious body, pinning his arms to the bed. His captive began to playfully kick his legs in all directions, like a newborn foal. Garak responded by releasing one of his wrists, just long enough to rip the linen pants off his body in one move.

***

Julian didn’t notice when his pants were torn to shreds. He could only feel the heightened sensation of the sheets against his back, and his heavy breathing. He was fully erect now, and he ached all over. He began to moan in anticipation and need, unaware of his surroundings.

The crumpled sheets soaked up the sweat as he grabbed at the folds, writhing on the bed. He kicked his legs around, wanting to be touched, held down, driven. He wanted to be broken and torn apart, leaving nothing but the core. He wanted to burn away all the fear, anger, rage, and pain, leaving the vessel of his body behind to gather up the pieces. If he opened his eyes, he could see a halo of fire surrounding his vision, blurring his view.

And where those hands touched him, he felt the heat of a thousand suns.

***

Garak barely took heed of the body beneath him as his mind filled his vision with long-forgotten fantasies of pain and torture. This creature reminded him of things he dared not hope for but yet couldn’t help wanting. In front of him lay his fantasy made flesh. A young man for the taking. And he wanted to take. And he couldn’t help himself.

His mind swam as he shifted his weight again to Julian’s wrists, pinned over his sweat-soaked head. His long limbs still kicked wildly, calling to be held down. Garak answered. He let go, leaving the outstretched arms where they were, and easily grasped an ankle in each hand, leaning back slightly to warn against a stray kick. Julian didn’t resist, he just bucked his hips a little, moving his ass down to rub up against Garak’s bare knees. The touch tickled the sensitive skin as shivers ran up Julian’s spine and ran straight to Garak’s groin.

He lifted Julian’s feet over his head and placed the crook of the ankle bones on his neck, criss-crossing them behind his head. Leaning forward, he took hold of Julian’s wrists again, folding his body to match up with his own. He looked down into the angelic face as faraway brown eyes opened to meet his gaze.

He was his.

***

Julian didn’t know what to do. Dark and cold visions danced in those eyes. He saw a pain there, and a want so pure. He willed his breathing to calm down. He didn’t want that, he couldn’t want that... God, why did he want this so much?

The fever and delirium heightened his panic until he felt a wave rising within him. On the edge of his sight Julian imagined a pain made physical, a yellow shadow crashing through their two bodies, giving and taking of anger and frustration. Couldn’t Garak see it? Julian was sure of it. He gritted his teeth to stifle a cry for mercy.

So much waiting and so many unanswered questions were making him sick. He needed to break. Something needed to break soon. Somewhere in the midst of desperation he called out.

"Destroy me."

***

"Yes."

At the words, Garak wanted to scream. He just answered yes. He let go for a moment.

And picked up a knife. It was Cardassian in design, simple and discreet. The silver handle rested cold and smooth in Garak’s palm. The blade had a steep slope, penetrating and efficient. He kept it close at all times, out of habit or necessity, the feel of the sharp metal resting in his breast pocket.

Julian’s eyes were closed again. Garak watched the body writhe underneath him, arching and fighting off an unseen assailant. His legs were still thrown over his shoulders, the muscles tightly clenching to hang on. Garak leaned over him again, holding onto his wrists with one hand, the knife resting in the other, waiting.

He still wouldn’t enter Julian. He couldn’t make the decision between the pleasure from pleasure or the pleasure from pain. The sign he was waiting for, the clue from his fantasy wasn’t coming to him. All was a blank, while their bodies called out as one for an ending.

***

Julian grabbed the knife from Garak’s hand.

He had his hand free and around Garak’s wrist before the Cardassian even had time to react. His eyes opened wide as he looked up at the stunned face. He watched as the surprise turned into an amused reluctance, a familiar expression to Julian. Holding the blade out in front of him, he kept his eyes focused on Garak while he unhooked his ankles and rested his feet on either side of him. He sat up slowly and stood before him, balancing on the bed.

Garak could see the fever in Julian’s eyes and he knew that he was unaware of his actions. Like he was playing a game in a holosuite or dreaming. But he let him go, drawn to let the game continue. Julian grabbed a handful of his black hair, holding his head back steady. He kept the knife at Garak’s neck, the blade remained close to his right ear. He moved closer, until his thighs brushed up against the scaly chest. Unafraid and excited, the blood pounding in his ears, Garak opened his mouth and took Julian inside.

In a moment, Julian was unaware of everything around him except for the heat of Garak’s mouth around his cock. The Cardassian held him close with both arms, completely supporting the weakened body. Julian, in turn, jerked his head around by the hair, trying to thrust in and out at the same time. Their timing and motions were uneven and messy, completely out of control with one another. Uncaring, they closed their eyes and moved on instinct and feeling, jerking and gagging and arching and shaking. Garak felt his own member grow hard. He focused on the young body fucking his face and the knife at his neck ridge. The combination was a reversal of his desires, bring him pleasure from a place he never knew was there.

Julian was close to coming. His head thrown completely back, he was shouting non-stop, vocalizing every sensation he felt through his aching and pleasured body. Garak held him still as he came, holding his upper body, twisting and arching in release and spasm. His voice silenced by the awe he felt, Julian opened his mouth in a mute howl.

Garak swallowed the come in his throat, his own cock throbbing in anticipation as he waited for Julian to finish. When the light cleared from his eyes and he could regain some control over his muscles, Julian finally looked down at Garak, who released him from his warm mouth.

Suddenly distracted, his eyes drifted off behind Garak’s head, to the hair he held tightly in his fist. Taking the knife, he motioned wide cuts over the black-haired crown, playfully studying it. He finally cut downward, chopping off a handful of hair in the descent.

At the cut Garak’s fingers clawed at Julian’s thighs and ass. It was his turn to come, strong and overpowering, as he buried his face in the taut abdomen of the startled human. He spasmed with release for a long while, breathing in the intermingled smells as he sobbed for air. His body and Julian’s: their sex, breath, and sweat.

Julian continued to stare at the knife. It had slipped in his sweaty hand, dividing the skin into a crimson line. Blood poured out of the split, running down his arm, onto the sheets and onto Garak. He stared in fascination, the warmth of the blood and Garak’s breath invading his body. Garak...

"Garak."

He spoke softly, not wanting to break the calm. At his name, Garak raised his head to Julian’s wide eyes. Taking ahold of the silver-ridged face, the doctor smeared red down a scaled cheek until he brought his injured fingers to the Cardassian’s lips. Garak parted his lips to take in a finger, the taste unfamiliar and metallic. His mouth soothed the pain, sucking it sweeter.

Julian stared at the ceiling, the light burning halos in his vision. He closed his eyes to the brightness, sinking into a deep slumber, as all else was forgotten.

***


End file.
